


To My Dearest... (Yr. 1812)

by prubun



Series: Memories [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Historical Hetalia, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Nationverse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prubun/pseuds/prubun
Summary: "But know this, Gilbert, I am meant to be by your side and I will do whatever it takes to get back to you."/Gilbert receives a letter from a special someone.
Relationships: Russia/Prussia
Series: Memories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483235
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	To My Dearest... (Yr. 1812)

**Author's Note:**

> ** [Posted: December 7, 2020] **
> 
> This will likely be my last fic of 2020, maybe. I'm not sure yet. I got this idea a while ago of Gilbert reading a letter from Ivan and I kind of forgot about it for months, then a random search through my Google Drive brought it back to my attention, so here we are. This fic is very Gilbert-centric and it was kinda fun to be in his head a little like that.

Sat alone in his office one evening, Gilbert sipped some wine that he didn't particularly care for, but it was enough to calm his mind and ease the pain in his leg. Atop his desk, there was a neat pile of documents that had been delivered to him, yet one item had only recently caught his attention and he contemplated it. After a few more sips, he leaned forward, picked up the letter, and looked it over before he conceded with a sigh.

He peeled back the crimson wax seal on the letter perfectly and left not a single mark on the yellow-tinted envelope. He pinched the paper inside and slipped it out, then unfolded the letter within, and began to read.

> _My Dearest Gilbert,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you well and in good health._

Gilbert glanced outside at the heavy rain battering his window with no sign of letting up, then down to his leg that was wrapped in a bloody bandage. He thought, _'could be worse,'_ and then looked back to the paper.

> _It has been so long since we last saw each other I cannot remember how long it has truly been. I'll admit that I find myself thinking of you often. I miss your voice, the fire in your eyes, the touch of your skin._

Gilbert lifted his glass to his lips and took a big sip as if it was supposed to help the fluttering in his stomach. 

> _You always had such tenacity, and even while we are on opposite sides, I still admire that strength of yours, always carrying your flag with such pride and dignity. I heard that you were injured recently but knowing you, and I think I do, you are probably up and moving around already and refusing help from your servants. Just make sure to get your rest, I know you like to pretend you're okay when you're not, so please, for me, rest._

"I'm better about it than I was a century ago..." he muttered to himself aloud, pouting as he took another sip; he couldn't believe Ivan was lecturing him from miles away through a letter, but it was very Ivan.

> _I have been busy with work. It's tedious and boring. Most days I'm signing papers, approving military programs, moving troops. This war is dragging on and I wish to resolve it quickly. I'm tired. I really don't like fighting, but...I'm sure you know. None of this is personal, I hope you understand._

Gilbert did understand; he knew their positions in the world and now was just a time where they were on the opposite sides. He agreed — none of it was personal. The letter continued but as Gilbert's eyes scanned across the paper, he found himself unfocused; reading but not giving it further thought. He was distracted by the thought of Ivan sat at a desk, lit only by the flickering of a nearby candle late in the night, writing away at the letter. His handwriting was unmistakable and familiar. Eventually, he refocused his eyes.

> _However, I have some good news. I've heard talk of an armistice between us, to bring us together against France — to get you away from him. I hope it's true. I will keep my ear pressed to doors if I can, I suggest you do the same._

Gilbert chuckled — as if he didn't already have his ear to as many doors as he could. An armistice. Gilbert had heard rumors as well; it was an amusing thought — the both of them spilling secrets in sneaky letters.

_'How romantic,'_ Gilbert thought.

> _ I know it's a long way off yet, but I believe that come winter, I may be on my way to you. I hate being on the other side but there are things I must do. But know this, Gilbert, I am meant to be by your side and I will do whatever it takes to get back to you. _
> 
> _ Yours,   
>  Ivan Braginsky _

Gilbert inhaled deeply as he stared at the final few words at the bottom of the page. His chest hurt, his heart raced, and his stomach twisted into knots. The way Ivan wrote — he could _hear_ it in his voice and it made Gilbert feel warm. There was a new sensation in his belly and chest, a deep longing that he'd never felt before; he wanted to _be_ with Ivan again, to lie in bed with him and talk for hours. When had he become like that? Sappy and desiring Ivan's affection? There were a few occasions — the Amber Room, their dance... A few moments in time where he'd felt Ivan's interest, and had interest of his own. At times it felt raw and possessive and Gilbert was sure it was, but there was something deeply genuine and intense about Ivan that he couldn't quite place. It felt wrong at times, but other times he couldn't think of anything else. 

He downed the rest of his wine and poured another generous cup, eyes narrow in thought. Taking another sip, he opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out some paper, and placed it neatly in front of him. With a heavy sigh as he set his wine down, Gilbert picked up his pen and put it to the paper. But he hesitated. The pen hovered above it and...he didn't know what to write. For Ivan, this type of thing was second nature, but Gilbert struggled with putting his emotions into words, especially ones of a romantic kind; he was better with body language, if only because he couldn't control it and was naturally brusque and honest. Even in the attempt to write it down, he felt that same nervousness; like he was weak for feeling emotions such as desire and longing, for being affected by Ivan's sweet words. He growled and clutched the pen in his hand, then sat back angrily.

"Why is this so hard...?" he questioned himself as he rubbed his temple and began to tap the pen repeatedly against the wooden desk. His pink eyes glared at the blank paper and he wished that the words would just magically appear there. After a moment his eyes trailed over to Ivan's open letter and he leaned forward, and for a moment he just stared at it, until an idea began to form in his mind.

"My dearest Gilbert..." he read the first line of the letter out loud, a soft murmur as if someone might overhear him. He sighed once more and scooted closer to his desk, held his pen loosely, and began to write.

> _ My dearest Ivan, _

He stopped and looked at the words.

"That doesn't sound like me at all," he commented with an irked pout. He grabbed the paper and crumbled it up before he threw it into the fireplace behind him. Turning back to his desk, he took out another piece of paper and focused once more.

> _ Dear Ivan, _

He started. And kept writing.

> _You heard right. I was injured, but of course, I'm recovering fast. I cannot ride my horse for another week or so and that's infuriating, but at least the weather has been bad so I'm not missing it too much._

Gilbert paused and stared at the paper, at his words. He bit his lip.

> _ I have been thinking about you as well. I am— _

Gilbert faltered, paused, and accidentally let the ink bleed through the paper. He cursed at himself and grimaced when he saw the black ink mark, but he'd already started over once, so he growled and continued.

> _ —very interested in this news of an armistice. Francis has been more annoying than usual, insisting that I speak to him in French and mocking my accent when I do. The fool doesn't know that Fritz beat the language into me a century ago and I'm purposely misspeaking to irritate him. I have been resting for a few days now and it's driving me mad. The pain is getting better but the maids are doting on me as if I'm a child, but at least the gunshot to my leg is healing fine. By the time this letter reaches you, I should be walking without a crutch, which has been infuriating in its own regard. But— _

Gilbert pursed his lips as he contemplated, then pushed the pen tip to the paper again,

> _ I promise I'll rest and not push myself. I look forward to seeing you once I'm healed, but until then, _

He came to the end. Unsure of how to sign it, he glanced back to Ivan's letter. It was signed simply with a bit of romance but Gilbert didn't feel pressured to match a flowery signoff. After several minutes of pondering how to end his letter, he finally did.

> _ Sincerely,   
>  Gilbert Beilschmidt _

He signed his name in the elegant yet uniquely rough way he always did — big, loud, portraying importance. He sat back in his chair to let the ink dry properly, and as he waited, he read over Ivan's letter again. Doing so, he felt that he should have told Ivan how he actually felt instead of glossing over it so quickly. He knew he was bad with words and romance; it never was his strong suit, but Ivan made him want to try. Once the ink was dry, he folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, then sealed it with a seal of his initials in deep blue wax. 

It was late so he'd send it on its way in the morning. He stood up using the wooden crutch he hated so much and hobbled over to his bed, undressed, then lied down for the night. However, sleep didn't come for an hour; he was busy thinking about Ivan's letter, again, how full of affection it was — how he could feel Ivan's care for him. Before long, he felt drowsy to those words, smiling a tiny smile as he nuzzled into his soft bed and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> **Hey! Thanks for reading!**   
>  **If you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a comment; it really helps me out a lot and keeps me motivated to write more 💕**
> 
> This was a little different than my usual fic. It kind of bounced all over the place, which I understand might be a little jarring, so I apologize if it was. I had fun writing it though. Writing the individual letters was hard; as someone who struggles with first-person writing and in real life am bad at writing letters, that was kind of challenging for me. I hope it turned out alright.  
> I wanted to do something fancy for the letters, but I couldn't get the HTML coding to work properly so I had to settle for indents and italics. Sorry if it looks weird.
> 
>  **Author's Notes:**  
>  • **History Note:** This fic took place in October of 1812, two months before the Convention of Tauroggen, which was an armistice signed between Russia and Prussia to end the French alliance with Napoleon. Basically, it was the beginning of Prussia joining into an alliance with Russia. The final changeover happened a few months later in February of 1813 and Prussia was officially aligned with Russia against Napoleon. Several months later in October 1813, the coalition armies of Russia, Prussia, Austria, and Sweden defeated the French army of Napoleon.  
> •Gilbert awkwardly writing a letter is pretty cute. Boy doesn't know how to be romantic but he's trying. Give him a few more centuries.
> 
> **Bonus convo from my server:**   
> 
> 
> **—**
> 
> **Social links:** <https://linktr.ee/prubun>


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